


(Not a) Mother's Day

by midas_touch_of_angst



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - One Shots [13]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Recovery, fuck mothers day :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midas_touch_of_angst/pseuds/midas_touch_of_angst
Summary: It seemed everywhere she went, she just saw all the signs everywhere. Mothers Day breakfasts, Mothers Day flowers, Mothers Day sales, everything all around her. Just reminding her that she’d had more than one and still not had any.Two young girls discuss their complicated feelings over cake.Rated T for swearing.
Relationships: Friday Caliban & Carmelita Spats
Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - One Shots [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542739
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	(Not a) Mother's Day

**(NOT A) MOTHERS DAY**

It seemed everywhere she went, she just saw all the signs everywhere. Mothers Day breakfasts, Mothers Day flowers, Mothers Day sales, everything all around her. Just reminding her that she’d had more than one and still not had any. 

She usually liked to stay out a lot, and sometimes she needed to, keeping an eye on the surrounding neighbors and tourists, making sure nobody in the city was suspicious-looking or hiding spyglasses in their coat pockets. And on quieter days, or days when they knew they’d likely be safe, or even when Lemony took over watching the house cause he had nothing better to do, she would skip off to the theater, or to find some odd job to do, or to the park to play basketball with the nearby kids. She knew they all speculated about her behind her back, but it didn’t bother her, because just a bit of eavesdropping showed it wasn’t mean-spirited. They were pretty sure she was a spy or an alien or a secret princess and that’s why she only came out on occasion and had such skills. 

Honestly, it was probably the nicest thing Carmelita could’ve expected. 

Today, though, she couldn’t escape all the signs and flyers and kids skipping around holding the hands of their mother or mothers and excitedly telling them their plans for the day. So after staying out just long enough to ensure that the streets were clear enough they’d notice if someone stopped by their apartment, Carmelita went back into the rhetorical building and trudged her way up the staircase to Lemony’s office, gripping the railing and watching her shoes bang against the metal steps. Clang. Clang. Clang. Up and up. 

She reached their floor, and then reached their room, and fiddled with her keyring, trying to remember which one was real and which one was fake and which one was secretly a case holding a lockpick in case she forgot which key was real and which one was fake and which one- _fuck,_ Lemony, seriously? 

She finally found the right one and unlocked the door, pushing her way in. She shoved the ring back into her pocket and kicked the door shut behind her, before kicking off her boots and sliding across the floorboards in her socks. She made her way to the kitchen, and then jumped. 

“Fri? You’re home early.” 

Friday glanced up from the counter for only a minute, before she turned back to her mixing bowl, a strand of hair falling over her eye. She’d started growing it longer, recently, and hadn’t quite gotten the hang of tying it back to keep it out of her face yet. Carmelita sighed and walked over to her, pulling one of her many hairbands from off her wrist and pulling a chair behind the child, starting to pull apart her previous attempt at a ponytail so she could redo it. Friday didn’t even look up, continuing to mix. 

“What’re you making?” she asked. 

“Cake.” 

“No duh, Wednesday.” Carmelita smirked, using her fingers to do some untangling. “What kinda cake?” 

“It’s a surprise. And I’m going to decorate it before Mr Snicket gets home.” 

“You’ve lived with him, like, a year Tuesday, you can call him Lemony.” 

“You can call me Friday.” 

“And you can call me a little bitch. Ugh, how do you do this to your hair? Do you want me to braid it?” 

“Just a ponytail. I like feeling it hit my shoulders.” 

“Gotcha. Why’re you making a cake? Special occasion?” 

“...not really.” 

Carmelita bit her lip, before finally getting Friday’s hair untangled. She stretched the hairband before starting to pull it up and twist, get it high and tight so it didn’t fall into Friday’s face or food. “Weren’t you and Inky going to the library today?” 

“Changed our minds. Inky’s in the garden right now.” 

Carmelita considered. “Would that have anything to do with the fact the library is having a Mother’s Day party?” 

“Maybe.” 

Carmelita pursed her lips, and then finished the ponytail. She stepped back, pushed the chair away, and then hoisted herself up on the counter, sitting and kicking her legs. Friday ignored her, finishing her mix and then pouring the cake batter into a pan. They both stayed silent as she pushed it into the oven and set the timer, and then Friday walked back over to the counter, jumping on her stool and pulling the icing and decorations from the counter. As she sorted through the colors, Carmelita said, “What’s Lemony doing?” 

“Still at the paper.” 

“Right. Does he-” 

“He never knew his mom.” Friday said, shrugging. “So he said today doesn’t bother him.” 

“Do you believe him?” 

“I think so. I’ve gotten pretty good at telling lies now.” _So no lies can go too far._ “What about you?” 

“Well, let’s do a headcount, shall we?” Carmelita sighed, running a hand over her own hair- she hadn’t been able to style it since she chopped it into a pixie cut, but she still could feel the strands push against her fingers, which was pretty soothing honestly. “Mom number one, didn’t give a shit after she pushed me out. Pretty sure she forgot my name half the time. Mom number two, technically kidnapped me. Treated me like a cute doll. Almost got us killed in a burning hotel. Might’ve died herself.” 

“So you’re not in the mood for today either, huh?” 

“Way worse than Father’s Day, at least dad number two was open about hating my guts.” 

“Father’s Day’ll be more fun anyway. We can get Mr Snicket something for taking care of us.” 

“More like we’re taking care of him.” Carmelita rolled her eyes. “And, honestly, after the shit he said about me my gift to him might as well be not punching his lights out.” 

“He was right, though.” 

“Hell yeah he was, doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.” 

Friday put away the icings and decorations she didn’t want, and spread out the containers, before shaking a sprinkle container. “Think there’s enough here?” 

“Probably. So, what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“How many moms you get saddled with?” 

“Just the one.” 

“And what’s your damage there?” 

“Did I not lay out that she died in front of me?” 

“Tons of people have died in front of us, doesn’t spoil Father’s Day or Worker’s Day or International Siblings Day or-” 

“I would rather not talk about it.” 

“Sucks, cause I rather would.” 

“You really never grew out of the ‘bitch’ phase, did you?” 

“Yes, but now I can use my peer pressure powers for free therapy.” Carmelita said. She pushed herself back and then laid on her stomach on the counter, kicking her legs in the air. 

“I don’t believe you’re a licensed therapist.” 

“I don’t believe we can talk to any therapists nearby. Spill, girlfriend.” 

Friday sighed. Then she leaned over on the counter and said, “My mom was a grade-b asshole.” 

“Grade-B? We got a sorting system now?” 

“Yeah.” Friday nodded. “Depending on what kinda psychological damage you got saddled with. I’d say Esme’s a Grade-C, cause I don’t think she intended to hurt you or manipulate you, she just didn’t think of you as a person. Olaf would be a Grade-A, from what I’ve gathered.” 

“Coolio. And Grade-B?” 

Friday took a breath. “I think she knew weird shit was going on on that island. But she didn’t care because she didn’t wanna face her problems. And that’s a bit of an issue when her problems are impacting me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Firstly telling me my dad died just because she didn’t wanna have an awkward discussion about where he went. Not telling me shit about VFD. Wouldn’t let me read because she didn’t want me learning enough about the world to make my own decisions. I think she just wanted the ideal perfect daughter for her ideal perfect island, one who did the laundry and didn’t complain or bring back weird shit from the beach that she wanted to keep despite what the bastard said. She never… hurt me, you know, but whenever I did something she didn’t like, she’d get this _look.”_

“Oh, I know that.” Carmelita nodded, remembering her birth father’s judgy glare when she was outspoken at a party. 

“And every now and again- at least, from- from what I remember- she’d play the pity card. She was a struggling single mother doing her best to make me happy and I wanted to run and play with the Bellamys instead of doing my chores, and question Ishmael’s decisions, and-” she sighed. “And I should’ve been a better daughter. And for a while I agreed.” 

“But you don’t anymore?” 

“I don’t think so. I had a lot of time to think before I found Mr Snicket. I realized first that her death wasn’t my fault. She didn’t want me to eat that apple even if it meant I died. And she wouldn’t take it afterwards even when I knew it worked. She could’ve taken it and she didn’t. I think she was just too stubborn to admit she was wrong. Or maybe she was just super drugged up, but then that Ishmael’s fault, not mine. And I… and Ishmael’s paid for his crimes, you know.” 

“I guess.” 

“And you know, I was, like, seven. After actually seeing other kids? No seven-year-old is gonna be perfect. No seventeen-year-old is gonna be perfect. And I realized that I didn’t have to be the perfect daughter just because she thought she deserved one. Cause I’m a fucking human being.” 

“Whoa, you’re using the f-word now?” 

“Why not? I’m a teenager.” 

“No, you’re still baby.” 

Friday smiled a little. “And, well, anyway.” she then slid up onto the counter, sitting beside Carmelita. “I don’t think she deserved a perfect daughter anyway.” 

“Naw, she deserved a little rebel who could kick her ass if she came back from the dead.” Carmelita raised an eyebrow. 

“I probably could.” 

“You could and _would._ I’d shoot her from a distance if you didn’t wanna see her stupid face though.” 

“And if Esme or your mom came back, I’d sick Inky on them.” 

“Inky wouldn’t hurt them.” 

“Naw, but that little horror would distract them long enough I could pull a sneak attack.” 

“Question, though, would they come back as humans or zombies, and would that affect their method of execution?” 

“If zombies came back, they wouldn’t have functioning brains, so they wouldn’t come find us. If they happened to pass by, they probably wouldn’t be much of a threat.” 

“Do you think Lemony has a zombie apocalypse preparedness kit?” 

“Oh, I can guarantee he does.” 

They laughed and continued discussing what paranoias their current guardian could have until the cake had baked. Friday pulled it from the oven, before setting it on a white plate and starting to decorate. She put Carmelita in charge of the sprinkles, knowing she was the best at getting them everywhere, but first she wrote out a little note atop the cake. 

In bright, cursive, pink writing: _Fuck Off._

Carmelita laughed a little, and then Friday looked up at her. “Hey, Carm, does the cake smell funny to you?” 

She sniffed. “I don’t think s- oh, you little shit.” 

Friday burst into giggles. “Cakesniffer.” 

“You’re the cakesniffer, little shit.” 

Friday giggled, and then held out her arms. “Sprinkle that shit everywhere.” 

“Whoot!” Carmelita cheered, threw up her arms, and then released the sprinkles. 

They laughed as they fell everywhere, and once Friday calmed, she said, “Hey, Carmie, you know what?” 

“What?” 

“Your Moms missed out. They could’ve had sprinkle cake.” 

Carmelita smiled a little. “Yeah. They could’ve. And your mom could’ve had cake.” 

“And instead she had seaweed and drugs. Every day.” 

“Ugh.” 

_“Ugh_ indeed.” 

When Lemony came home and found sprinkles all over the floor, he was not surprised. He did, however, end up marching into the girls’ room, where they were spread out with their cake slices and playing a board game, and asking, “Why do we have a cake on the counter that just says _Fuck?”_

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this IS in the same universe as "One Rotten Apple Spoils the Whole Bunch." Carm joined up with them afterwards and now they're all a dumbass chaotic family.


End file.
